


Queen's Gambit

by Riathel1738



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dark!Rey, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kylo is Kylo, Pre-TFA AU, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rey is an Actual Damaged Person as opposed to Flowery Sunshine and Rainbows, sub!Kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riathel1738/pseuds/Riathel1738
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A queen never asks; she takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a relationship like the one depicted in this story, it is abusive! Please do not think I am glorifying these shit BDSM practices in any way, no matter what you read in this fic. I write this fic to be hot and deal with my own demons, not to portray a healthy and wholesome relationship. These characters are fucked up, and I’m trying to fuck them up even more. Thanks; all my love!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Queen's Gambit - one of the more popular gambits in chess. Although most gambits are unsound against perfect play, the Queen's Gambit is an exception to this rule._

The sun had just hit its zenith when Rey saw the shooting star. She ripped off her goggles to squint at it, ignoring the harsh wind that cut into her eyes instantly. Strands of her brown hair were teased out of her buns by the breeze, dancing to a frenzied, silent song. For a few minutes, she tracked the star intently, watching it streak its way through the sky in a lazy arc – down to earth. _Ship_ , she realised, and stuffed her goggles back on, revving her speeder.

This was good. They hadn’t had a crash from orbit for a while. She had to get there quick, before Erdin’s men. Her arm never really set right after that last encounter, and her shoulder ached with every bad wind.

Like today’s. She ignored it, pressing forward into the speeder as if to urge it faster. The dunes flashed by, an ochre sea hissing beneath her. She cut off a luggabeast and its furious master, his shrieked curses whipped away by the wind. It felt good to be pushing her speeder to its limits. Freeing. She tucked the feeling away for later, to crow over when she was sitting in front of a mountain of rations. Maybe she’d get enough for a bath, she thought brightly.

The ship had been on trajectory towards the Sinking Fields; the prospect of a landing site like that didn’t fill her with much joy, but she was fast enough to get in and out of the craft before the sands decided to eat their fill.

Today had been bad. She’d expected to return to Niima empty-handed, accept the jeering from Plutt, and spend the rest of the night fighting off hunger or trying to angle for pity rations. The ship was a boon from space – she pushed down the feeling of guilt at the fate of the pilot. Whoever they were would be dead on impact, she reasoned.

It took her the better part of the day to reach the crash site. But she’d heard it before she reached it, a muffled _thud_ echoing through the sands and a billowing fire that bled into the horizon. She gunned her speeder, engine whining in protest. _The sand gives and the sand takes_ was a familiar saying around the Outpost. Everyone treated the dunes with respect, and more than a little fear. The Sinking Fields were the most volatile of all. They could hold weight for hours before deciding to give way, or swallow a luggabeast in two seconds if it strayed one iota from the path. They were deadly, and, more importantly, perfect – nobody would get to harvest any of the other parts. She would have the only new ship parts in their part of the desert. Even if Plutt bargained as though it was scrap, she would still come away grinning.

Black smoke leaked from the downed ship, coming out in irregular puffs like a spurting jugular. She parked her speeder as close to the crash as she was comfortable; it was right on the edge of the quicksands. One wing was already being sucked slowly down.

 _Alright_ , she thought. _Analysis._

Tie-fighter, new model, badly damaged, no fire (explosion had been put out?), smoke probably from the engine, fresh scorch marks along the hull. Rey approached the ship, peering at the outer hull. This new model must have the maintenance hatch in a different area, she thought, annoyed. Sand slipped beneath her feet slowly, caressing her boots. She shook free, and climbed up onto the shattered cockpit. Glancing over the cockpit – the computers utterly destroyed, probably worthless – she only noticed the pilot when he stirred.

The pilot was fully dressed in black, a shattered helmet dangling from the left half of his face. The rest of his face was badly scratched and covered with blood. It was hard to tell where the blood was coming from, his injuries were so numerous. Probably the diagonal cut across his face, Rey thought. He’d be dead soon. It was for the best.

“Maker guide your soul,” she muttered briskly, making the sign across her mouth. Time to go check the back of the ship. Before she could, the pilot’s revealed eye snapped open, and he lunged forward, grabbing her by the tunic. She yelped, his strong grip the only thing stopping her from falling backwards.

“ _You_ ,” he said, shuddered, and fainted. His grasp loosened, and she landed on her arse in the sand, squeaking at the sudden impact. She bounced back up, clambering onto the rim of the cockpit. He was still out cold, his chest rising and falling with shallow gasps.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How do you know me?” No answer. Frustrated, Rey cast her eyes skyward. The sun was beginning to set. More importantly, the sand was still whispering sweet nothings to the ship; more than half the wing was now under the earth. She could either save the pilot, or eat. She scowled at the unconscious man. “This is your fault,” she informed him, and unbuckled his belt. There wasn’t anything pinning him in the cockpit, thank the Maker, and she dragged him out rather easily for how the rest of her day was going.

He was shockingly light for a man of his height. Another blessing. She considered what to do with him. The sands’ sighing turned into a deafening wail of metal as the ship disappeared, air exploding out and covering them both in a cloud of grit. She reckoned he’d survive if she strapped him in the net. It wasn’t a good idea, but it made the most logistical sense.

A cylindrical hilt dropped from his belt as she was loading him gently into the net. Curious, she picked it up and turned it around in her hands. It felt hot, as if it had been baking in the sands all day. Maybe the heat from the pressure had been absorbed by the metal, she thought, continuing to examine it. There was only one button on the front, two side exhaust pipes, and a front exhaust. She threw it on top of her living cargo, suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of it in her hands. A trick of the light made her think that it glowed red when it touched him. The setting sun must be blurring her eyes, she thought, rubbing them before she pushed her goggles back down.

Rey kicked the speeder into life, and headed for Niima Outpost.

* * *

“Do you know how many portions I would’ve got from your crash?” Rey found it comforting to berate her guest as she fussed about her home. He was awkwardly stretched out on the floor of the AT-AT, covered in her blanket. “I didn’t even get to check the back, but the engine parts alone would be worth three or four whole portions each. _Each_.” The sickly-sweet smelling bactaid had done wonders on his face, even if she’d had to reapply the same patch for a few cuts. When she’d gone over his body, she was fairly sure that the bone in his lower leg had been broken, and she’d spent most of her bargaining portions on grabbing a good quality splint for that. The bandages and pain-relief had come a little cheaper.

She couldn’t complain in earnest, though. The cylindrical thing had gotten her an offer of sixty portions from Plutt. Her jaw had almost unhinged at the offer; she was stunned speechless when he accepted her initial push-back of eighty. He _wanted_ that thing, whatever it was. She’d spent about twenty all up on medical supplies, and was very pleased with herself. Her emergency stock was replenished from the last sandstorm, and then some.

Her mystery pilot was rather pretty, in a sad way. Once cleaned of blood, his face looked soft. Several times, she’d touched his uninjured cheek, just to satisfy her curiosity about men. It was smooth, and his jaw-line hard under her fingers. She _liked_ touching him. The knowledge pooled low in her groin, making her flush. She’d been very matter-of-fact when undressing him, but it was hard not to stare at least a little at his naked body. Mottled bruises were already blooming beneath his pale skin; he was going to certainly feel it when he woke up.

“You’re lucky they fixed the brake shaft in your ship,” she informed him. “If that were the previous model – _boom_ , right through the gut. Skewered like a sand rat.” Rey fixed herself a meal, dividing the portion into half and leaving the other aside in the vacuum pack. As she chewed on the bland bread, she watched him. Not with her usual wariness, but unbridled curiosity. She drank in his features, tracing the long shape of his face, his crooked nose, tumbling curls, long, dark lashes…

The piece of bread fell from her gaping mouth into her lap. _Maker_ , she thought despairingly. Her inner thighs were warm, a delicious heat that curled through her. _Sands. Anyone who’s listening._

* * *

It was three days before her pilot awoke. Rey had grown comfortable chatting to his unconscious body. She hadn’t ventured out to scavenge for the entire time, working instead on her small garden. It was almost time for her desert-flowers to bloom, which delighted her. Even as a child, she’d loved their almost-black-purple petals.

She sensed he was awake before she saw him – how, she did not know. But there was an awareness that snaked through her mind as she trimmed back dead shoots and delicately plucked away wilting leaves.

His head whipped around instantly the moment she entered the AT-AT. _His eyes are black too_ , she realized, dizzy. They both froze, Rey mostly because she thought her knees might give out if she didn’t have the supportive metal wall behind her. To see the face she had been studying all these nights pulled tight in a wary glare was bizarre.

“Where am I?” the pilot said finally, his voice soft and raspy. He cleared his throat, and started coughing, hard. When she pressed the canteen into his mouth, he took it from her, tilting his head back and pouring it down his throat and all over his face and torso. “Well?” he asked again, shaking his wet hair.

“Jakku.”

“I know that, _girl_ ,” he snapped, and immediately started coughing again. She merely stared at him this time, her gaze calculating. There was some way she could win here, she knew, some way she could come out on top in this bargain; she just had to figure out how. “I am asking,” it clearly grated him to be so polite, “ _where_ on this godforsaken _rock_ we are.”

 _Entitled,_ she mused, studying him like a particularly foreign engine part.  _Arrogant._ Rey shrugged, concealing a smile. “I’ve never thought to map it.”

He glared at her. “You are… astoundingly unhelpful.” Her vision went dull – he was reaching for her, but not with his hand. Mentally, somehow – “ _Fuck!_ ” he shouted, grabbing his head with both hands. The pressure on her mind disappeared.

“You should be more polite to the woman who rescued you,” she snapped, touching her temples. “I could have left you to die in the desert. What was that?”

“Stop – talking,” he ground out, eyes clamped shut. He was breathing heavily, sweat beading on his skin like he was baking in the sun. Eventually, he opened his eyes, and his voice was filled with agony. “Painkiller.”

She scowled. “What’s the magic word?”

“ _Now._ ”

“No,” Rey said. He looked visibly stunned.

“Do you know who I – _FUCK_.” He grabbed his head again. She almost felt pity for him. Almost. “Painkiller! Now!” There was a beat of silence. Rey crossed her arms. “Please,” he whispered, face contorted.

“Better,” she approved. Her pilot shuddered, eyes flitting towards her face. His gaze stayed on her as she fetched the powder and stirred it into the left-over clean water. “Drink.”

He did, grabbing her hand this time and pressing almost the entire cup into his mouth. She couldn’t help but watch his throat bob and constrict in an intoxicating pattern. When he was done, he dropped her hand, letting out a relieved moan. His eyes were slightly glazed; it occurred to her, too late, that the painkiller may have just been contraband opiates for the price she’d gotten them at. And not the good stuff.

“What’s your name?” he asked, running one hand slowly through his hair. She frowned. The high shouldn’t have hit him that quickly.

“Tell me yours.”

“Mmmm,” he sighed, too lost in bliss to care about power play, “Kylo.” He drawled out the _o_ , making it infinitely more sexual than a name ever needed to be.

“Rey,” she replied, aware of the flush high on her cheeks and hating herself for it. He didn’t seem to notice. She felt a soft tug at her – it was in the same place as the reaching had been earlier, but this felt different. Motivated by drugged curiosity, it was a gentle caress at the edge of her consciousness. “Why’d you crash?”

“Hmm. I like your ocean,” he said. An unpleasant jolt went through her. “But you’re so sad.” He was looking through her, she realized, and it enraged her. “So lonely,” he murmured, “so… afraid to leave?”

Her hand stung when she slapped his face. She panted; it felt good. Especially when his only reaction was to tilt his head back and moan like one of the whores she saw in Ergel's bar. The red splotch her hand had left looked like it was throbbing against his skin.

“Do that again,” Kylo purred.

This time, he let out a barking laugh; she cut it short by gripping his throat tight enough to wind. “You can’t treat my mind like a whore,” she said, quietly. The rage that pulsed through her had turned cold. Kylo licked his lips, pupils blown to the size of his iris. “Are you listening? Stay out.”

“Why should I?” Rey wanted to hit the arrogant look off his face; so she did, hand slamming into his cheek-bone with enough force to bruise. “You present… a tempting argument,” he said, and laughed again. It was a manic sound, a high cackle fueled by street drugs and pain. The persuasive tugging at her mind stopped.

Her heart was still beating in her ears. He looked like a dishevelled mess, arching his back into the metal floor: a black stain in her dusty sanctuary.

Then, he paled, flung himself onto his side, and threw up violently. It was mostly water-- _all my water_ , one part of her wailed--mixed with something… purple.

“Did you _drug me_?” he asked, gasping, before throwing up again.

“Not intentionally!” she shot back. She should have known that Teedo wouldn’t carry anything legit. “I’ll get you a rag.”

His pained groans followed her outside as she snatched up an oil-soaked rag. “You are the worst guest,” she muttered at the sand, cheeks still burning. “Worst.”

“ _I heard that, girl!”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, TW: rape, TW: fucked up individuals. God speed.

Rey spent the night outside, watching the stars through her pilot helmet. She didn’t know the real names of any star groups, but she liked the challenge of making up a name and a story for a particular pattern. _The Mother_ was shining brightly tonight. She hoped her family was looking up at the same star-system as she was. Perhaps they had different constellations where they were. The sand was grit beneath her fingers as she pushed them through the ground, clutching lightly.

She hoped they missed her. She traced the constellation in the sand, drawing a smile on the face. A darker shadow eclipsed her drawing; she glanced up, the helmet slipping sideways.

“You know your leg is broken,” she started to say. He was staring at her helmet with barely hidden contempt. She scowled. “What’s your problem?” she demanded, rising to her feet. The helmet thudded to the ground, sinking into the sand.

“You,” he said. “You think too loudly.”

“I told you not to read my mind!” He shook his head, black hair flying across his face wildly.

“I’m not,” he said, irritated and obviously more than a little offended. “You are projecting your thoughts onto me.”

“No, I’m not,” she snapped, stalking into the AT-AT and brushing past him. She heard his impatient sigh; she looked back quickly to see him leaning on the side of the war-machine for support as he hobbled towards her.

“Just keep your pathetic loneliness to yourself, if you don’t want me to comment on it.” His voice was filled with such obnoxious self-righteousness. Rey gritted her teeth, fighting the very strong urge to punch him in his smug face. “I can’t sleep while you’re whining about your parents loud enough for the solar system to hear.”

She grabbed her staff, and swept his feet from under him with one vicious kick, jamming the staff hard into his throat. It took less than a second for him to hit the floor, and he stared up at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly parted.

“Violence is the only thing you understand, isn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. She pressed the staff harder into his throat, watching as he struggled to swallow with fierce pleasure. “So stay out of my thoughts, and be quiet, or I will break your other leg. Hear me?”

He nodded. She pulled her staff back, leaving him to get up by himself. Power was still singing through her veins, a steady thrumming that left her breathing heavily. Maybe now he would be more grateful. She sincerely doubted it.

For the rest of the night, she caught him looking back at her with unashamed curiosity. The expression on his face was… hungry, she concluded uneasily. It wasn’t the way that men normally looked at women. The last time she’d felt like this, she’d been staring up at the snout of a Ripper-raptor.

Sleep did not come easily.

* * *

He obeyed her command to be quiet to a degree that was rather unnerving. From the moment Rey woke, greeting him cautiously, he said nothing. He just stared. The savage hunger in his eyes was better-cloaked than last night, but he still looked at her as if she were a fresh oasis in the desert. Worse still, it was making her feel less and less uncomfortable and more… thrilled. She’d never had a man look at her like this before. The novelty would wear off soon, she argued with herself, and then it would be creepy. _He can’t stay_ , Rey determined. _I’ll drop him off at the Outpost today._

When she was out fetching water from a nearby lagoon, she noticed the dark clouds forming on the horizon. Rey swore under her breath, hauling her large water container back to her speeder. It wasn’t long before she was back home, unloading the three containers she managed to fill up. At least they would have supplies to ride out the storm. Her unwanted guest would have to remain for a while longer.

Except for the fact that he wasn’t where she left him this morning. Typical. “You can die in the storm, for all I care,” she said to the water container. “Serve you right.”

“Do I have permission to speak?” asked a soft voice, just behind her left shoulder. Rey stifled a yelp, pivoting in place. Kylo’s face was impassable except for the hint of a smirk ghosting the edges of his mouth.

“What kind of game are you playing?” she snapped. He tilted his head slightly, still looking faintly amused. Her temper flared like a sun spot. “Whatever it is - it’s not funny, it’s not _endearing_... yes, you can speak!”

He actually smiled. It was not pleasant. Sort of like what a droid might do if it were plopped in a human’s body and asked to pretend to be human. Maybe she was onto something. “I require transport to some resemblance of civilisation,” he said, in that silky tone that made her hate him with a disquieting passion. He smelled like sweat, dust, and an underlying copper tang of blood, a combination that made her skin too tight for her bones. His tongue darted out to wash over his cracked lips. “You have a speeder, do you not?”

She’d been staring, she realised. Fuck. “Yes,” she agreed, distracted, “um, wait, no.”

Her guest raised his eyebrows in a perfectly cultured display of polite scorn. Everything about him was so intrinsically infuriating. The pleasure of slapping his narrow face shivered down her spine.

“There’s a storm,” she said, fighting the flush on her cheeks. “No way we’d make it into town before the winds hit.”

“And there are no closer encampments?” he asked quickly, face splitting into an uneasy frown. She shook her head.

“Nothing closer than Niima Outpost.” His expression darkened, and he limped away from her. “Why?” she asked honestly, watching him struggle to sit down. His black eyes flicked to her face, then back to the floor.

“None of your concern,” he said, voice cool and clipped. Her irritation, held at bay momentarily, surged back into her blood. Her muscles felt taut, coiled around the sharp clarity of her anger. Kylo looked up at her, eyes as wide as when she’d knocked him to the floor last night. It was as if he could feel her emotions pulsing off her furiously. “I told you to,” he started to say, then swallowed, hard. His eyes were filled with that depthless hunger again. “Do you not have any... _control_ over that?” he said, trying to be scornful and failing as his voice cracked and stuttered over the words.

She did not ask what he meant. There was a frenetic energy throbbing inside her, twisted and hard with the force of her emotions. Her breathing was uneven, heavy and thick as if she were caught in the middle of a sandstorm. Her head was screaming when she stalked over to him. He was afraid; Rey wasn’t sure how she was so certain, but the knowledge rushed through her, sweet and heady.

His head banged back into the floor when she crouched down beside him. He was exhaling sharply through his nose, pupils dilated in fear.

“Don’t,” he muttered out. Rey slapped him hard across the face, grabbed his chin, and forced her mouth on him. The bitter taste of copper exploded into her mouth--he had bit her, she realised. Arousal flared through her, and she pushed her tongue hard into his struggling mouth, savouring the taste. As a girl, she thought her first kiss would be sweet and delicate, like she’d read in books. This was fire, and blood, and fury.

A hand clamped around her throat, crushing her wind-pipe and forcing her backwards. She gripped it with both hands, nails digging into his skin with enough force to cut.

“Are you _raping_ me?” he asked, incredulous. His voice was shaky, the fear in his eyes even more pronounced up close. His hand loosened enough for her to breathe, and answer him.

Rey frowned. “What is raping?” she asked, the fire inside her tampered by uncertainty. None of the prostitutes had mentioned a sex act like that. They often spoke of how many cuts and bruises they had, how rough sex was. From what she understood, it was an act of power. She felt powerful right now, so this must be sex. Or the start of it, at least.

Kylo stared at her, and then let out a shaken bark of laughter. “Are you being serious?” He pushed her back further from him; despite her struggling, he was much stronger than her physically, and managed to just hold her back. “You are a savage,” he noted, but his voice was not cruel.

She glared at him, and bit his hand; he swore, flinching backwards and dropping her throat. “Tell me,” she ordered.

“You drew blood,” he observed, voice suddenly dispassionate. Dull red splotches decorated her floor as he shook feeling back into his hand. “Raping is when you have sex with someone against their will. I would have expected even a desert-rat to know what consent was.”

Rey’s confused glare intensified. “I want to have sex with you. Why can’t I do that?”

“Because I don’t,” he said curtly.

“So?” She pulled herself into a sitting position, legs crossed. “How else are you going to repay me?”

His eyes flashed with anger. “I wasn’t aware that I was in  _debt_ to you.”

Off-worlders were confusing, Rey decided. Traders on Jakku were very easy about trading body for coin or favours, and vice versa. “I saved your life,” she said, as if explaining it to a child. “You owe me a life debt.” The silence between them was tense; Kylo was staring holes into the wall, body tight as if he wanted to run. “Do you want to kiss more?” she asked finally.

“Hit me,” he snapped. She cocked her head, and his gaze shifted to meet hers. “Hit me again and I’ll have sex with you.”

“Okay,” Rey agreed brightly, crawling forward. When she was settled into his lap, she felt something pushing at her insistently. “Is that your--?”

“Shut up and hurt me,” Kylo said, his head back against the metal floor and his eyes closed. His skin felt cool against her palm, dried slightly from the desert wind that howled even through her little cul-de-sac. She stroked the rough hair on his chin, digging her nails into it lightly. His shirt came off easily, revealing a thin chest covered in black hair and a thin gleam of sweat. Rey stroked his sides lightly, pleasure sinking into her loins as she felt him stir beneath her. She dug her fingernails into him suddenly, revelling in his hoarse yell as she clawed down his chest. The marks she left were red, and raised, and hot on her lips. She kissed them softly, licking a little at one dusky nipple and trailing a line of saliva down to his stomach.

When she looked up, his black eyes were on her, fear once again widening them impossibly.

“Why are you so afraid?” she asked, nuzzling his sparse stomach hair with her chin.

“I’m not,” he said softly. He shifted beneath her, the hardness at her lap even more pronounced. “Keep going,” he added, a crack in his voice turning the command into a plea.

Instead of answering, she ripped a new line down his skin, lunging up to bite the shout out of his mouth. His uninjured leg came up to wedge in between her thighs, pressing up against her wetness; she moaned into his lips and ground on him. It felt right to be above him, bruising his mouth with hers, tearing at his skin until bloody spots were smeared across her fingertips. He arched beneath her, spine bending with a litheness that she would not have expected from his awkward, lanky form.

She pulled back, wary of drowning herself too deeply in him and desiring to observe her plaything. He was a mess. His black hair was splayed across his face, strands dancing upwards with his every breath, revealing his reddened face. The bruises on his cheeks were mottled-yellow, still blossoming under his skin. His chest was covered in a patchwork of welts, dark pink lines stretched across his pale skin. Rey smiled, her body flush with power. She wriggled out of her tunic, casting it to one side and revealing her small, pert breasts. His gaze was fixed on them, cheeks darkening even more. She did the same for her leggings and his, and pressed her naked body onto his, one of her hands snaking down to hold him.

“Do all men feel this hard?” she asked, self-conscious of her naivety and inexperience. His eyes opened, settling on her face.

“You’re a virgin?” he said, as incredulous as when he asked if she was about to rape him. His head hit the floor again; he groaned. “Just - yes - stop talking now, get on me.”

He hadn’t softened at her revelation; if anything, he was harder. It felt like he might snap at any moment if she pulled it wrong. Tentatively, she stroked up and down.

“Harder,” he barked, still not looking at her. He moaned again when she slapped at his side.

“You’re not giving orders,” she said, but gripped onto his hardness tighter, enjoying the way it bulged in her hand. It was as desperate as the man it was connected to, throbbing fiercely. “Aren’t you worried I might break it?” Rey probed, uncertain.

Kylo lunged upwards, hands affixing around her hips. He dragged her forward before she could protest, aligning her groin with his and thrusting into her. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he said, thudding back onto the floor again. Rey moaned, letting her head tip backwards. He was filling her in a way she’d never felt before, a delicious tightness buried inside her, shifting minutely with every spasm of his hips. “You’re so fucking--good,” he mumbled. Experimentally, she moved her hips in a circle, and was rewarded by a high, keening moan. It sent a stab of arousal through her, arcing like lightning down into her bones.

“Grab my breasts,” she said, panting. When he didn’t respond, she struck him hard across the face. “Actually, this is better,” she amended, and hit him again. His eyes were practically rolled into the back of his head, his chest rumbling with that soft, whining keen. She thrust forward and around a few times. There was something intense building up deep inside her, and she moved up off him briefly before thrusting back down, trying to scratch the not-quite-an-itch she felt.

“You feel made for me,” she purred. “I won’t let you leave. Not now.” Kylo shuddered beneath her, twisting helplessly.

“Please,” he begged; for what, she did not know. “Please.”

She leaned forward, pressing her breasts flush onto his chest. This angle felt good. She was able to thrust harder and faster than before; frantically, she bit his throat, trying to tip herself over the edge. His voice failed him entirely. His hardness spasmed inside her.

It was enough. Colour exploded in her vision as she came, clamping down hard onto his cock and ripping through the skin at his throat. She was barely aware of the blood in her mouth, panting and writhing in ecstasy.

For several minutes, they lay there together, sweat growing cold as the wind rushed through the AT-AT. Finally, Rey slid him out of her, wincing at the raw feeling between her legs.

“That was,” he started to say, voice very quiet. An unholy shriek interrupted him, and the wind picked up pace. Rey scrambled to her feet.

“The storm,” she said, face pale. Still naked, she ran to secure the entrance. Kylo Ren sighed, and let his head fall back onto the floor for the umpteenth time. The pain helped to centre him. It was much needed with his thoughts so scattered and disorganised.

 _I need to leave_ , he thought. _Before this becomes… dangerous._

One part of him knew it was already too late for that.


	3. Chapter 3

The storm lasted for three days. It was a screaming terror, scraping against her home like a starved predator. Rey was used to the hunger of the desert, the shivering emptiness of quicksand. But the storm cut through her completely, finding holes in her defences and roaring in to consume them both. Fear was a familiar friend, keeping her from sleep for the first night, and forcing her to find comfort in her guest. He did not complain during or even after, when she pulled him close enough to taste his heart thrumming through his veins at the same quick speed as hers. When morning came, grey and bitter, they were busied in separate locations, neither one wanting to give into analysis.

She was grateful for his quick and silent work to keep the storm at bay. If his leg caused him pain, he did not show it, helping to repair her home-made tarps as soon as the wind ripped holes in them. He held them steady as she sewed. They were in harmony, performing a dance as complicated and as simple as survival.

It wasn’t until the second night that he came to her, and she realised he was as scared as her.

The wind tore away anything that they could have said, so they were silent. Rey brushed his hair back, tucking the loose strands behind his ear. It was whipped back instantly into a mad frenzy by the storm, but she caught the soft, confused expression on his face at her touch before it was obscured. She leant up, then, and bit at the small wound on his throat. The movement of his chest froze.

His lips were gentle against her dry skin, mouthing something she did not understand.

She bit harder. His body jerked into motion with a raspy, shuddering movement. He had forgotten to breathe, she thought, amused.

Roaring, the tarp strained against the fury of the wind, barely holding on; Rey kept part of her mind on it, the rest considering the freckles and spots along her pilot’s neck.

He held her wrists down when she tried to undo his clothing, shaking his head. Rey growled, deep in her throat, but let herself be pushed into his chest; she nuzzled at him lightly and pressed against him, frustrated with arousal.

They remained like that for a few, long minutes. His eyes were dark, his breath tickling against her collarbone.

When he let her go, she stayed.

* * *

“You will come with me to the Outpost,” Kylo ordered. Rey glanced up at him, tying away the tarp with sharp firmness. There was an unsteady lilt to his voice, she observed; his open face scrunched in growing frustration at her silence.

This was the first he had spoken to her since the lifting of the storm. Her guest had spent the majority of his time tucked away in a corner of her home, his posture so stiff he seemed carved out of brittle rock. _You wouldn’t last a second in the desert_ , she thought, contempt curling inside her.

Now, she tapped a finger against the tarp, regarding him thoughtfully. His cheeks were lit up with an ugly flush that clashed with the yellow and purple bruises marking his face. He opened the violent slash of his mouth to snarl some command at her; she cut him off,

“No.”

Kylo blinked, lips drawing back over his teeth. “Excuse me?”

“I said: no.” Rey rose to her feet, crossing to her food stores. He followed her, limping, like a vengeful shadow. She was down to forty ration packs. The sight of her dwindling hoard sent a spark of fear through her, even as her mind muttered _it’s fine, you’ve had to support two people, it will be fine, you won’t starve_.

“I am not playing games, girl,” Maker, why was he still talking? She glanced over at his tight, shaking form; he seemed barely in control of himself, voice cracking like a whip and bending like a slave all at once. “You will take me to town or…” The look in his eyes was so dangerous, she couldn’t help but taunt him.

“Or _what_?”

His hand flung out, grazing the top of her hair as she ducked under it. She intercepted the next hit in mid-arc, twisted her body, and used her strength and his momentum to fling him towards the wall. He was staggered only by a few steps, hissing in pain as he landed hard on his injured leg. She didn’t wait for him to turn, but bolted instantly for her staff on the other side of the room.

“ _No_ ,” he spat, and the staff flew past her into his outstretched hand. Rey turned, wide eyed. Her staff broke in two over his stomach, and he threw away the pieces like they were trash. Fury twisted through her, hard, cold. Comforting. “You _will_ obey me,” he continued, straightening with effort. “Or I will _break_ you.”

Rey saw red. The anger that had slithered inside her solidified, and she flung out a hand before she knew what she was doing. Kylo’s hand rose to his throat. He was choking, she realised with perfect calm, her hand still curled into a fierce claw. _She_ was choking him.

She felt something clamp down on her mind, a vice tightening and pulsing like a heartbeat. Kylo was panting and grunting against her hold, his eyes wide. She couldn’t move, an invisible force pinning her where she stood, but still he choked, drowning out of water. The pressure on her wavered, and then redoubled, forcing her to her knees. Her vision blurred, grey spots blooming like splatters of blood across her mind.

 _Stop_. It was his voice, raw, ragged. _Let go._

She held on, kicking and scratching and biting at his presence in her mind. She heard him cough and splutter aloud through the roaring buzz in her mind.

Stars erupted under her eyes as he slammed her head into the ground. _ENOUGH!_ It entwined with the screaming in her mind, melding into a hellish sound; she tried to cover her ears with her hands, but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t…

Rey heard him fall to the ground as her vision failed in a black and white mosaic of dots. Distantly, she was aware of him crawling over to her. He filled her fading vision with black.

“You,” he said. But he’d already said that, she thought, a whine in the dark, and fainted.

When Rey woke, her hand flew out to where her staff normally was, scrabbling against the bare metal for her weapon. Her heart hammered in her chest. _He broke it_ , she remembered with a pang of anger. She scrambled upwards, ignoring the screaming pain in her head, the trembling of her limbs. He was sitting on the other side of the room, face and hair matted with dried blood. He was staring into space; his gaze, for once, was not intense. It looked haunted.

“You broke my staff,” Rey snarled. Her pilot raised his head slowly, still looking away. Her legs failed her, and she slid to the floor, shaking. “It was mine,” she said, her voice sounding like a petulant child to her own ears. “You had no right.”

“Stop… talking,” he said.

The night wind was slicing its way through her home; she wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering. She felt as if she’d been ripped from nape to sternum, a savage ache pulsing through her with every heartbeat. Finally, Kylo lifted his head, glaring at her with a surprising hatred.

“Are you really just a scavenger?” It wasn’t a question, not in truth. An accusation, hurled at her feet like a primed explosive. Her muscles tried to tighten, but exhaustion loosened them until she felt undone and unravelled.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered.

He was on his feet and in her mind in the same instant. He dug himself into her fiercely, tearing through her memories with fury and abandon. In its presence, there was a sense of betrayal that was not hers. His hands were tight on her face. He seemed to not care how hard he squeezed, nails gouging red crescents into her skin.

“Show me,” he demanded, voice shaking. Her face burned. “Show me who taught you.”

_Screaming, no, come back, don’t leave; Plutt dragging her by the hair through a crowd of jeering aliens; hunger; pain flared through her when the mercenary kicked her arm out of her socket; so hungry, so hungry, please, can you spare some food; her rope cracked and broke, her bones snapping as she fell--_

Kylo ripped his way out of her, exhaling sharply. He was close enough that his breathing was hot on her skin. Blinking, she realised that tears were running down her face.

When he kissed her, it felt soft and sweet. An apology he would never say aloud. Rey wasn’t sure she understood enough what had been happening to forgive him. The violation of her mind repulsed her, made her want to flee from him, kill him, never look back.

Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck. He pulled her in closer, breath coming in short, hard wisps.

“Don’t do that again,” she ordered. Somehow, her voice was steady. He nodded against her shoulder as she tore away his brittle strands of hair.


	4. Chapter 4

Niima Outpost was thrumming with its usual stream of activity. Slaves were busy scrubbing at their masters’ pickings; Rey noticed that a lot of the slaves were trying to keep busy with no artifacts to polish. Traders and scavengers trailed in a wonky line off to the right, chatting among themselves in gruff languages as they waited for Unkar Plutt. She could hear his snarling, grizzled voice even as they pulled up a little ways from the encampment.

An Uthuthma with a huge, grinning mouth and four chains hanging from her neck approached Rey as she dismounted. “ _Sahhh_ ,” the Uthuthma growled, two tusks jutting from the side of her mouth turning the affectionate term into a snarl. Rey grinned back and walked forward, leaving Kylo to ungracefully dismount the speeder.

“ _Siithaki_ , Umura,” she greeted her. Umura laughed in a horrific roar, and grabbed her into a crushing hug, lifting her high up off her feet.

“Rey survived. Good.” Her Galactic Basic was hoarse and clipped, rumbling through Rey’s body like a rusted motor. Her small, beady eyes fixed on Kylo, who had fallen sideways off the speeder and was growling. “Storm treasure?” Umura questioned. Rey shrugged. Umura nodded, and set her down. “Growling is good,” she added. “Strong.” She patted Rey’s shoulder with a gentleness uncharacteristic of an Uthuthma. “We have been having hard dealings. Good that Rey is back.”

Kylo stiffened as Umura approached him. She sniffed at his clothes, and then lunged forward, her massive teeth snapping just short of his face. She laughed uproariously when he fell backwards into the sand again, and waved goodbye to Rey with one hand. “Fast!” she bellowed, approvingly.  Rey wasn’t sure if it was a _good_ thing that he was an acceptable mate by Uthuthma standards.

Rey smiled despite the furious look on Kylo’s face. She extended a hand to him; he ignored it, rising to his feet and brushing off the sand with jerky movements.

“Friend of yours?” he snapped. He strode off without waiting for a reply, adjusting the scarf she had given him around his face to cover his dark expression.

What a ridiculous man, she thought. He had stayed out by her speeder all morning when she was out scavenging. Even in her borrowed, too-short clothes (that he fussed and complained over, but refused to give back), he remained a black mark on the otherwise beige horizon of the desert. Running over the dried bones of an _Imperial_ -class starship for anything that had been overlooked, Rey looked back at him several times as she dangled high above the landscape.

Her chest was burning with curiosity, with questions as yet unanswered about what the force flowing through her had been - and who her mysterious pilot was. He dodged her questions artlessly, snapping at her every time she had even opened her mouth that morning. It gave oxygen to her fire.

“Are you coming?” His voice cut through her reverie. She snorted, pulling her meagre cargo down. He waited for her to drag it through the sand.

“You haven’t told me who you want to see here,” she reminded him, wrapping one rope more firmly around her hand. He kept his pace slow to match hers.

“Make your business quick,” he replied. “Then I will know.”

 _That doesn’t make any sense_ , she thought, pushing her hair away from her eyes. She opened her mouth to tell him as much, and shut it at again at his sharp, “Stop speaking.” It would be so _pssfaking_ easy to sell him for food; the thought lingered in her mind over-long. So much of her pilot was a series of conflicts; his sharp tone, his gentle touch, the way he begged her to hurt him, the fact that he hadn’t allowed her to fuck him since that first night of the storm. But she understood one part of him. His hunger, his thin face. It was a sick feeling, empathy, but she felt it prying away at her mind night after night. She let her bundle drop at her feet, crouching at the back of the line to Plutt. One day it would break through, she knew that for certain. What she didn’t know was what it would change - if anything.

Blinking against the breeze, Rey realised he had disappeared from her side. A pang shivered through her. _It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter._ She had to keep waiting here, on Jakku; that was all that was important.

 _He knows something_ , a part of her, discontent, hungry, whispered. _He knows_ you _._

* * *

A fight broke out as she was haggling with Plutt over a rusted halaurium vocal compressor. She did not glance over at the shrieking, focussed on insisting that it was worth more than an eighth of a portion. Eventually, he threw the green protein pack at her, and took both of her pieces.

“You should be glad for my generosity, girl,” he barked, and slammed the roller window shut, narrowly avoiding her fingers. Rey bit back a barrage of insults, stuffing the ration into her satchel. Years of being beaten down by Plutt kept her anxiety from quickening her breathing; she pushed the panicky warbling into the back of her mind.

She finished affixing her net back onto her speeder quickly, and set off into the marketplace. Her pilot was still nowhere to be found. The loss of his dark, shadowy presence at her side was jarring in a way she didn’t much care to examine.

“ _Thief_!” The scream pierced the thick haze of the marketplace. Slaves were abandoning their work, craning upwards to see what was going on; their masters were already at the head of the throng. Rey pushed her way through, curious.

The screamer was a Melitto, their chitinous head-plate catching the sun; the breathing tubes and vocal box it was using warped its words into a muffled rasping. Its vocal processor clicked into life with a dull _thnk_. “I felt you steal it, dark one! Return to me, my property!” The Abednedo it was pointing at gave a guttural, raspy shout.

“You are a delusional _fraud_ , Jolka,” she said, the thin skin flaps around her drooping mouth flying in agitation. “I have stolen nothing of yours. Leave, before I break your breathing apparatus.”

Rey felt someone tug at her elbow. She glanced back to find her vision filled with the beige chest of her pilot.

“Let’s leave,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Now.”

“I want to watch the fight,” she whispered back. He grabbed both of her arms and began to steer her away, despite her grumbling. The crowd parted easily for them, everyone focussed on the screaming of the Melitto as - judging from the ripping noise - the Abednedo made good on her threat.

When they were back at her speeder, he let her go, pushing a thin, metal staff through her netting. Rey stared at it, then at her pilot.

“Where did you get that? And what money do you even--”

“Get on the speeder and stop asking fucking questions,” he said, grabbing her by the waist and putting her in the seat before sliding in behind her.

It dawned on her as they were rushing out on the sands. “You _stole_ it?” she shouted against the wind. He shifted against her back, hands loose around her waist.

“No,” Kylo said into her ear. His tone was slightly defensive. “I acquired it as recompense for lack of information. The Melitto was not useful.” Fingers rubbed lightly at her suddenly tense muscles. “Take me to a bar.”

“Why?” she yelled. He didn’t answer, seeming to have not heard her, so she repeated it.

“If I tell you,” he said, irritated, “will you shut up?”

 _No._ “Yes!”

“Liar.”

* * *

Ergel’s bar was the best place for information on this side of Jakku - which is why Rey was utterly perplexed when Kylo threw himself into a booth and told her to bring him the strongest alcohol here.

“They only serve one drink,” she said, “and you don’t want to try it.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. He’d brushed past her and barked orders at an exceedingly bemused looking Ergel like Kylo expected the bartender to file in rank-and-form. Rey sat in the corner of the filthy booth, stretching her legs out to the other chair and sliding down. The anxiety from earlier bubbled at her throat, stopping her from fully relaxing. She had no idea why they were here, who Kylo was, or what had happened to her last night, and he looked no closer to telling her _anything_.

For the first time in her life, it felt like there may be a reason for her waiting. A deadline. She was so close, she could feel it, a deep certainty in her bones that enlivened and terrified her. What was she without waiting? Being enslaved to a goal was limiting, but at least she knew where and who she had to be.

The power from yesterday flitted through her mind. She frowned, and stretched her hand out experimentally at a jar of rotten pickles on the table, trying to force it to move. Nothing. Rey sighed, and dropped her hand to her lap, picking at the threads on her tunic. Her bruises told her that she hadn’t imagined yesterday - but what good were new-found powers if she couldn’t control them?

Kylo returned with an oil can and a sullen look on his face. The can hit the table with a sharp _thunk_ and he slid into the chair next to her. The booth was so small that he was pressing against her, his breathing constricting the tight fabric of his shirt. She eyed him, and then the floating muck that served as alcohol here.

“Are you really going to drink that?” The thick beverage was bubbling gently, spongy bits floating up to the surface before sinking back down with a disgusting wet plop.

He answered her question by downing half the oil can in one go, setting it back down on the table, and saying, “ _Fuck_.”

“Told you,” Rey said. The dust on the table was perfect to draw shapes in so she began to sketch out the _Imperial_ -class starship she had raided this morning. “Why are we here?” She didn’t expect a response, although the kernels of resentment were flaring inside her.

“We,” he sipped delicately at the beverage, “are here,” again he sipped, looking faintly green, “to get drunk.” He set it down again, and looked at her critically. “Are you of age?”

Rey laughed. “You had sex with me and _now_ you ask?” The offended hauteur on his face made her giggle harder, clutching her stomach. “Yes. Twenty-three.”

“Liar,” he said again, instantly. He propped his head on his hand, elbow brushing against her hand. For a long moment, he was consumed with considering her. “Eighteen,” he said, finally, and took another drink.

“Nineteen.”

He grimaced, though whether at the taste of the drink or his incorrect guess, she couldn’t say. “Close enough. Drink.” The can whined as he pushed it towards her, dark eyes fixed on her face.

“I have to drive,” she reminded him, and pushed it back. Kylo grunted, hand curling around the oil can. “You have to tell me…”

“What?” he prodded, finishing off the can.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Who are you?”

“Kylo. I told you.”

“You know what I mean.”

He swept his lank hair out of his face with one swipe, expression dark. “No. Next question.”

“What are you looking for?”

“A person.”

“Who?”

Instead of answering, he licked his lips. “Do you believe in legends?”

Rey tilted her head to one side. Curiosity warred with annoyance in a duel to the death. _I wonder if he wanks off to how mysterious he is_. “What do you mean? Like…”

“Jedi,” he finished her trailing thought. “Sith. The Force.”

Excitement bloomed in her without warning. The stories from her childhood rushed back to her, of the collapse of the Empire, the rise of the New Republic, all at the hands of a Jedi and his two friends.

Kylo’s hand was resting hesitantly on her left shoulder-bone, and Rey realised she was leaning into him and beaming. Trying not to think too deeply on it, she slipped her arms around his waist and tucked herself into his shoulder. _I’m tired_ , she rationalised. _And he is very, very warm._

“What does this have to do with who you’re looking for?” she asked, rubbing her chin on the bare skin poking out of his ill-fitting shirt. He was starting to smell like the desert, musky and thick.

He didn’t answer for the longest time. His fingers trailed around her shoulder in lazy circles. Rey hadn’t been touched like this in - _forever_ , she realised. A crack opened in her breast, a suffocating, churning loneliness pressing down on her with force stronger than that which had brought her to her knees.

“Everything.”


End file.
